


Appetizers

by KristenRoth



Category: Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenRoth/pseuds/KristenRoth





	1. Bored Game

As the rain fell steadily outside, Clarice and Dr. Lecter played games in their bedroom. He was unenthused with her current selection.  
"You're cheating, you naughty girl."  
"Am not. It's a secret passageway."  
He raised an elegant eyebrow.  
*Wanna check the rule book?"  
"Clarice, must I remind you that I have no interest whatever in other people's rules?"  
She laughed.  
"You're just mad because you're not winning."  
"Nonsense. It's a tedious game and, thankfully, it's over."  
"Not so fast, Hannibal. It's not official until I make 'The Accusation'."  
Lecter groaned. He, especially, hated this part.  
"Go on. I'll never have any peace if you don't."  
"Mrs. Peacock...in the library...with the knife."  
"At last. Now it's my turn." Lecter growled impatiently and swept the game board off their bed as he lunged for her.  
"My favorite," she giggled as he pulled her to him. "The cannibal...in the bedroom...with the former special agent."


	2. Cat Fight

"Please, Hannibal."

Clarice offered him a pleading look that she hoped might prove charming and irresistible. He chuckled and reached over to pat her hand.

"Not right now, Clarice. Perhaps a bit later... after we’ve finished with our errands."

"You always say that!" she pouted, folding her arms over her chest and staring at him accusingly. "It seems terribly unfair that you always have the choice of where and when."

"When did I ever lead you to believe that it would be otherwise, My Dear?"

"But, Hannibal," she began in a sulky tone, "you never let me drive the Jaguar!"


	3. Contentment

“Do you miss it, Clarice?”

“Miss what?”

“The nobility of your former life?”

She turns to study her companion, surprised by the question.

“Nobility?”

“The plight, your lambs. Do you feel yourself wasted with no innocents to save?”

She fixes him with a level stare.

“You’ll forgive me, but this seems an unusual topic. May I ask...”

An impatient sigh comes from the man at her side.

“Well, Hannibal, you have to admit that this did come from out of nowhere really, and...”

“Are you happy, Clarice?”

She smiles.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”


	4. Dinner

The table is lovely. Crystal and candlelight.

She looks across to study her companion and finds him smiling at her indulgently, his eyes gleaming in the soft light cast by the flames.

She finds herself lost in his gaze, unsure where her hesitation might have come from.

She lifts knife and fork to commence dining and her does the same. He watches her intently, pleasure in his eyes.

“Is everything to your liking, My Dear?”

“Yes,” she replies. “Everything is lovely.”

A smile, the flash of sharp, white teeth. He looks to her empty wine glass.

“More Chianti, Clarice?”


	5. Dinner and a Movie

“How could they!?” she wailed. “What in all of HELL were they thinking!?”

“They obviously weren’t thinking at all, My Dear.” He put a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “Try to bear in mind that it’s only a movie.”

“But...” she stammered helplessly, “... but she was an IDIOT! He should have killed her! I would have killed her!”

“And so would I,” he replied. “Hollywood, on the other hand...”

He paused to watch as the film’s director exited the theater, and then turned to his companion with an evil grin.

“Perhaps a bite to eat might improve your mood, Clarice.”


	6. Drabble

He looks up from the FBI website and sees Clarice hunching over her black laptop.

“Sit up, Clarice. Your posture is atrocious. I shudder for your spine.”

She rolls her shoulders seductively and feigns a wince.

“Emmm… I might need an adjustment, Doctor.”

‘I’m hardly a chiropractor, but I believe I could apply some corrective therapy.”

He moves behind her, hands at her shoulders, then sighs pointedly at the purple text on a black screen.

“Again?”

“It’s interesting. The stories are getting shorter. More… elegant... somehow.”

“Now,” he switches off the monitor, “if they would just allow us some privacy.”


	7. Fallen

He shakes with impotent rage when he hears the first scream. There is no way to stop this. The handcuffs holding him to the chair make it impossible even to raise his hands to his ears, though he is desperate to block the sound from the next room.

His stomach had lurched when Lecter jerked her up and pushed her through the door. He was certain he wouldn’t see her alive again. Now he knows that he will, though this is no relief to him. Crawford hears her scream again and feels the bile rise in his throat.

“Hannibal, yes!”


	8. Harmony

He sat considering the harpsichord, running his hands over the ornate wood. He knew every curve, yet, the instrument still held secrets from him. As he played a timeless sonata the harpsichord's responses told him instrument and musician were now one. Obeying his every command, the keyboard was now his.

She sat enraptured, prisoner to the music's hypnotic spell. Long moments her, floating on notes. Lost in music and melody, the woman turned, found again in deep maroon eyes. She was his. Momentarily forgetting the music, he was hers. Both sat mesmerized by harmony; the music held them both.


	9. The Hunted

Looking down the shaft of a sleek, yellow arrow. *Twang!* Donnie recoils slightly with the release of the bow's string. *Thwap!* The deer crouches to spring at the string's sound, but it's too late.  
Another figure is silent among the cover of the foliage. He watches the figure of the bloody deer stagger, then slowly sink to the ground. Her wild eye slowly glazing over, blinking for the last time. Ah, what's this? A flash of blood smeared upon the snow, now a flash of maroon hatred watching the young doe being dragged to her fate. He will make them pay, all of them, for the deer, for Mischa.  
Leaping jovially from his seat in the branches, Donnie goes to collect his blood-soaked prize, laying there, waiting for him. The deer is not the only one that is hunted today. The prey never hears the Doctor come up behind him.


	10. Identity

Though drowsy, Dr. Lecter senses her unease and drinks deeply of her dream.

Still lambs.

Even now.

He smoothes a scar of tension from her brow.

Forget them, Clarice. You bear no mark of the herd.

According to his touch, her discomfort subsides, and she discovers peaceful sleep. He pulls her close; the whisper of their flesh summoning ghosts of pleasure. She does not stir; in sleep she trusts enough.

Dr. Lecter’s head falls against her shoulder, savoring, isolating, from the richness of their coupling, that scent that is uniquely hers.

Cannot wolves always catch the traces of their own?


	11. In Season

The stress of the past several months had disrupted her cycle. She had been unsure of what to expect from month to month since April.

She reminded herself of this more than once as she waited for the results of the home pregnancy test.

She hadn’t wanted to tell him until she was certain, but he had noticed that she was troubled.

She is more than a little happy to tell him now that the result was negative.

“A shame, really...” he says, a not altogether pleasant smile playing over his handsome features. “I have a lovely recipe for veal.”


	12. Lucifer

Clarice entered the living room, where she noticed a rose lying on the table. She picked it up, brought it to her nose, and inhaled deeply.

"It smells almost as sweet as you do."

Clarice jumped at the sound of his voice, pricking her finger on a thorn. 

"Allow me" he said as he licked the blood from her fingertip. 

She watched his tongue flicker in & out of his mouth like a serpent. "I know what you're thinking... I'm inclined to agree. But Lucifer was heaven's most beautiful angel. And that, my dear, is a perfect description of you!"


	13. Perchance to Dream

She is dreaming again.

No lambs this time. They would almost be welcome.

Something far more disturbing troubles her this night. She is running through shadows - pursued or pursuing, she does not know which. She stops abruptly, held firm in an unrelenting grasp. She is aware of rough whispers in the darkness; the flash of maroon eyes; the ache of sharp, white teeth against her skin; staggering need.

She wakes from the dream, drenched with sweat, and shakes her head to clear it. She still hears his voice, feels his kiss. She hears his name tumble from her lips...

Hannibal.


	14. The again, maybe not

"He's perfect for me."

Ardelia plunks down a half empty mug of coffee on the table. "And you like him," she adds, refilling their cups.

Starling shrugs. "What's not to like? He's dedicated to his work. He understands my work. Our schedules are compatible..."

Mapp nearly chokes on her coffee. "Good God girl!" she sputters. "You make finding love sound like catching a bus. Next thing you know, you'll be saying how dependable he is."

"He is dependable, yes." Clarice sighs. "He's good for me."

"But you won't see him again."

"No."

Ardelia gathers up the empty mugs. "You are touched in the head for letting this man go."

Starling smiles. Through the kitchen window she can see how bright the stars are tonight. They look near perfect. Their patterns shift throughout the year but return to their proper places.

*Some of our stars are the same*

Perfect.

"Yes," Clarice muses. "I may just be."


	15. Tradition

“Change is good, Hannibal. Change is fresh. It’s liberating, challenging.”

“But what are the holidays without tradition? What is anything? Tradition is the cornerstone of culture, the continuity that marks the slow and grim ascent of Homo sapiens from the primordial soup.”

“I don’t have anything against tradition, per se. I’m just saying that different isn’t necessarily bad.”

“I’ve always thought Valentine’s Day rather special for us, Clarice. A sort of milestone, if you will.”

“It is, trust me, and it always will be. But, you know… it’s possible for a girl to have too many severed heads.”

“Really?”

“Really.”


	16. Untitled 1

Starling's eyes prickled, hot, and she blinked in disbelief. The newspaper fell to the floor, a soft thump, and she gripped the edge of the newsstand as she swayed, suddenly nauseous and unsteady. The hum of traffic and people grew dim and distorted, and the paperboy rushed to her side. She batted him off and stumbled away into the throng of commuters. Her reaction spoke more truth to her than the good doctor had ever revealed.  
Below the picture of the darkly handsome doctor was the caption, in 14 point railroad gothic…

“Infamous ‘Cannibal’ shot dead in police raid”


	17. Untitled 2

She clutches the half-empty glass in her hand, so strongly that it eventually breaks into irregular pieces. Whiskey and blood flow in thin and symmetrical streams down her wrist and forearm. More tears of sheer desperation leave dark stains on her cheeks and chin.

Afraid. Empty. Brutalized.

No fucking future.

Jack Crawford opens the office door and silently walks to her. Just when he is about to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, she abruptly turns and plants the sharpest fragment of glass just below his sternum. She answers his last courageous stare by slitting her own throat open.


	18. Withdrawal

Tonight she is sheathed in russet silk, lovely before the firelight. At his suggestion she watches it intently. He savors perfection of face, throat, and shoulders… only her bare arm brings a frown. He’s used the utmost care; but in his mind he sees the needle tracks.

Hypodermic poised; he muses… is this necessity… or merely trepidation? She does not turn from the fire, but there is tension beneath her carefully constructed veil. 

"No more, Hannibal."

Decided, he slips it from his sight and calls to wake her. Apprehensive, but grateful, he releases them both from his constraint.

And waits.


End file.
